


i still fall apart at the thought of your voice

by witchy_country616



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchy_country616/pseuds/witchy_country616
Summary: The rug still had the wine stain from when she had spilled the Chianti her grandma had sent for her last birthday. Half of his, now packed, vinyl collection actually consisted of operas he couldn’t bear neither to listen nor to throw away. And even though he knew it was impossible, sometimes he still caught whiffs of her perfume, as if she had just turned around the corner.
Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton/Siena Rosso, Simon Basset & Anthony Bridgerton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	i still fall apart at the thought of your voice

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this earlier on tumblr in response to this prompt for santhony + "is there any reason as to why you’re getting drunk on a tuesday afternoon?". Added some things, made some minor changes and I'm posting here now.  
> Title is courtesy of The National's Quiet Light (which is very santhony!).

“Is there any reason as to why you’re getting drunk on a Tuesday afternoon?” Simon asked upon entering the apartment and seeing Anthony sitting on the couch, a half empty bottle of whiskey and a tumbler on the cocktail table in front of him.

It was not the first time he saw Anthony getting drunk. Not even the first time he saw Anthony drunk _on a Tuesday_ at a quarter past four in the afternoon, as matter of fact. They had been quite wild on their younger days. But that was _then_. He had changed, grown up, and so had Anthony. And that wasn't the only concerning fact. Anthony had always preferred beer. For him to turn to hard liquor (and that was a very expensive, 18-year-old whiskey, if he had ever seen one), then something really dire must have happened.

The man was getting married in less than a week, for God’s sake. Unless…

“She hasn’t called the whole thing off, has she?” There was a note of worry in his voice, even as he told himself the mere idea of it was stupid. They loved each other.

Anthony shook his head and took another drink. Then proceeded to fill his glass once more.

“Okay…that’s good, I suppose.” Simon said, looking for a place to sit.

There were card boxes all around the flat, filled with Anthony’s belongings. It was the whole reason he was here, in fact. They were supposed to pack the boxes in his car and take it to Anthony’s new place. Granted, the loft on Soho was beautifully decorated and more spacious than most Londoners could ever hope to afford. It had served as the perfect bachelor pad for Anthony during the last ten years. But the newly renovated Georgian townhouse on Notting Hill that the couple had just bought would be the ideal place to start a family, the whole Bridgerton clan had agreed on that.

He couldn’t imagine them ever moving those boxes today, though. Not if Anthony continued down this way.

Coming to terms with the lack of sitting options, Simon settled himself on top of a couple of boxes filled with books and turned around on his make-shift bench to face Anthony.

“Are you just going to get drunk and not say anything?”

“That was the plan until you showed around.” Anthony answered with a sigh.

He had completely forgot Simon was coming over. It was his own fault really. Her presence engulfed him here and in some strange, masochist way he had come to appreciate it. Here, she was never truly gone. The rug still had the wine stain from when she had spilled the _Chianti_ her grandma had sent for her last birthday. Half of his, now packed, vinyl collection actually consisted of operas he couldn’t bear neither to listen nor to throw away. And even though he knew it was impossible, sometimes he still caught whiffs of her perfume, as if she had just turned around the corner.

He had procrastinated until the last minute to pack, knowing what it meant, and now that it was finally done he just wanted to numb everything down with alcohol.

“Is it Kate? Did you two have a fight or something?”

 _Kate…_ No, it wasn’t Kate.

The bitter chuckle came out before Anthony could avoid and Simon looked at him questioningly.

“No, we didn’t get into a fight. Kate is fine.” He paused for a moment and added, “Kate is _perfect_. She…she is everything I could have ever hoped for. She even understands.”

Simon could hear the notes of bitterness in Anthony’s speech and they left him completely puzzled.

“Understands what?”

Anthony pointed to the glass in his hand before finishing off its’ contents. “She thinks it gives me depth.”

Indeed, what was it that she had said? That knowing he had loved so strong, that he was capable of such feeling, that’s when she knew he was more than what all the papers and Lady Whistledown’s tabloid claimed he was. That’s when she truly started falling in love with him.

Of course, she thought it was all behind them now. Like a bullet wound that had long since healed and all you had left was the scar to prove it had been there in the first place. She didn’t know they had closed the wound tight with the bullet still inside of him and from time to time he could feel it moving and constricting his chest.

She didn’t know he was here getting stupidly drunk over another woman and dreams of a shared life that would never be his. She would’ve had something to say about that, for sure.

“And you don’t agree with her?”

Simon’s voice brought Anthony back to reality. “Huh?”

“You don’t agree with Kate?” He repeated. “You don’t think it gives you depth?”

Anthony smiled, but it was sad and to Simon, it almost looked like a grimace.

“No, that’s not the word I would use.” He answered and moved to take another drink, only to realize his glass was empty.

“What word you would use?” Anthony heard Simon question as he poured the whiskey and his hand shook, spilling some of it on the table.

He thought of the beautiful antique Cartier ring tucked deep inside the box just to Simon’s left, never worn and forever cursed to a life of darkness.

The answer came swiftly.

“Heartbreak.”

And then he drowned his drink.

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not become a series, so let me know what you think!  
> Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
